


Dissonance

by ontheskies



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex-centric, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Tags Added As I Go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10466775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ontheskies/pseuds/ontheskies
Summary: There's a storm raging outside he can't control, and one inside of him that Alexander can't keep holding in.Trigger warning for graphic descriptions of panic attacks and self harm.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Generally triggering material. Read tags/description for more. Unbetaed.
> 
> Please take care of yourself and don't read if you're easily triggered or not in a good place. Help is available, please ask for it.

_She was sick and she was holding me._

If nothing else, Alexander remembers his mother’s arms.

He remembers how she used to hold him when he was small and tired, and she pulled him close under the thin blankets of their shared bed. The way he lifted him on her arms and paced around the room when he couldn’t sleep, her soft humming lulling him to sleep. The way they fit around his waist as he attempted to read her bedtime stories from colorful books, his voice slow and careful.

Mostly, he remembers her trembling arms rubbing his back as he threw up over and over again next to their bed, the stench of vomit covering a room neither of them had the strength to get out of, much less clean. He remembers when they stopped moving. He remembers how, when they finally pulled her away, the last thing he touched was his mother’s thin wrist.

Alexander remembers her dying, and can’t remember much else.

_In the eye of the hurricane there is quiet._

The rain pours down from the sky, resembling more a cascade than a simple storm, the sudden flash of lightning leaking through the curtains and illuminating the seemingly empty small room. It isn’t until thunder reaches Alexander’s ears that his huddled body shakes, making him finally visible to anyone looking in. Exactly what he doesn’t want.

Alexander sits on the corner—the one place where he is able to see the entire room, just in case, just in case, just in case—with his back flat against the wall and his knees pressed to his chest, arms wrapped around them so tightly it is almost as if he’s trying to stop them from running away on their own accord. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears escaping his closed lids and hanging on his eyelashes before running down his cheeks, like his eyes are having a storm of their own.

Another flash of lightning, closely followed by thunder, and all that Alex can think is that it is getting closer, it must be getting closer if he can see the lightning through his closed lids nearly at the exact same time he hears it. The sound of rain hitting the roof isn’t helping. It feels like water is pouring in, through the windows and covering the floor, like he is drowning, drowning, drowning.

He opens his eyes to check his room isn’t actually flooding, shoulders slumping slightly once he realizes it isn’t.

The hurricane was three years ago, but sometimes Alexander swears it hasn’t ended.

 _I couldn’t seem to die_.

By the time the next lightning flashes, Alexander is already a nervous wreck. His breathing comes in short, ragged breaths, and he’s rocking back and forth as he tries to catch his breath. There’s not enough oxygen, not enough air, he’s not enough, never enough and he’s going to _drown, drown, drown_.

He runs both hands through his long, messy brown hair and pauses half way, grabbing fistfuls of it and pulling just strong enough to cause some damage, face contorting in pain as a scream rises on his throat. Only a whimper comes out, and his shaky hands move to his ears, pressing down in an attempt to cover the noise.

Why couldn’t he just drown? What had he done to deserve to keep living? So many innocent kids he outlived, families that were torn apart and _he_ , the bastard orphan, is the one who got away from it all and into an Ivy League college when he knew goddamn well he’d never change the world. He’d never do shit worth remembering, never achieve the greatness his mother had always insisted he was meant to have.

It takes a moment for Alexander to register the red scratches that were now covering most of his forearm, not deep enough to draw blood but certainly deep enough to leave a nasty mark. _Pain, pain, pain._ He craves more, he _needs_ more so desperately it feels like he’s going to drown without it.

Maybe it just feels like he’s going to drown either way, like he’s going to suffocate, like there’s not enough air, not enough air, _not enough air, not enough_ —

The next flash of lightning is reflected on a silver blade on Alexander’s shaky hand, and in the wet trail that goes all the way from his cheeks to the collar of his shirt. He’s shaking so bad he thinks he might drop the blade, but the sight of it is enough to make his hand go suddenly steady.

The chuckle this draws out of his mouth is bitter and sarcastic and certainly does not deserve to become the crazy laughter it turns into, but Alexander can’t help it any more than he can help the sobs that accompany it or the way he gasps for breath when it is finally over. It is a cacophony of sounds and he finds it very fitting.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch when the sharp metal digs into the skin of his wrist and is moved from left to right, leaving a deep cut right there in the middle of his wrist, on top of all the older scars. Once upon a time he’d been worried about keeping them as straight as possible, every scar parallel to the previous one, all of them the same length. They couldn’t be too deep, the cuts barely deeper than scratches, because otherwise they wouldn’t be able to fade and this was only a temporary solution. He’d stop soon. Just one more time. 

Now all he cares about is whether he can drown in his blood or not. 

_Because he deserved to drown. He should’ve drowned. He should be dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead._

For a second, Alexander thinks of Lafayette, of the way the French man had held him that one time he’d found him lying in the bathroom floor, surrounded by a pool of his own blood and staring at the ceiling with an empty feeling in his chest. How he’d bandaged his wrist, given him water and stayed until the numbness had been replaced with a feeling of grief so big he didn’t know what to do with it. Mostly, he thinks about promising Lafayette that, should he ever feel that low again, he’d pick up his phone and dial his number and try to talk it out first, whether or not Alexander thought he had better things to do than take care of his best friend. Which he didn’t, he’d constantly insisted.

But Lafayette was out, and it was date night, and he’d seemed so excited when he’d walked out the door, and now Alex was alone and he was drowning, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, _couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t._  

Oxygen doesn’t seem to reach his lungs until he presses the blade against his skin—deeper, always deeper—and flicks his wrist. He gasps as the wound pulses and blood comes pouring out, and for a couple of seconds Alex feels free, finally able to leave all of this behind. Not that it lasts long, it never does, and then he starts shaking again, like an addict begging for his next fix.

In a way, Alex supposes that’s exactly what he is. Addicted to hurting himself, when most people try their best to avoid any harm coming his way. He wonders what his mum would think of this. He briefly considers what _Lafayette_ would think of this, or Mulligan, or Laurens.

Laurens, beautiful Laurens who’s been studying all day for tomorrow’s test and who is probably asleep in the next room blissfully unaware of the many ways his roommate mirrors the storm outside. Except, of course, the storm has a certain beauty to its chaos. Alexander is simply disorder and pain and a huge amount of _fuck up_.

The blood keeps flowing and he’s probably stained the floor and his favorite sweatpants again, not to mention covered every inch of his arm available in new, fresh scars, but his heart is still beating like it’s trying to leap out of the prison his ribs make. The pressure on his chest hasn’t disappeared either, too busy trying to make him suffocate to consider leaving him alone, and Alex feels anger rise from his stomach to his chest to his throat, and suddenly the stupid blade is being thrown across the room with a scream of rage.

It is short lived, but at least it gets the sharp blade out of his hands. Lafayette would be thankful for that. 

He looks up to the ceiling and closes his eyes once again, arm carefully placed next to him in an attempt to maintain his clothes clean. Tears keep falling and his breathing is still ragged but he feels calmer than before, if only slightly.

Maybe this is the time he got lucky and accidentally cut too deep, maybe this is the time stupid, worthless Alexander finally kills himself. Wouldn’t that be something?

What if this is his legacy? What if this is what people remember him for? Being a gay, suicidal immigrant who always got more than he deserved. Always wrong, always off, always mistaken. Moving too fast because he didn’t know which day would be his last, he couldn’t know, not after everything he’d been through, after his mother had been ripped away from him just like that.

Except it never was, it never was, and he should be dead, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he _wanted to die, wanted to die, wanted to._

His sobs fill the room, and he covers his eyes with the arm currently not covered in blood. He briefly wonders if his room is flooding again, or if it’s just a product of his imagination. At this point, he doesn’t think it’d really make a difference. 

The door of his room opens, and Alexander jumps, trying to press his body into the corner of his room. There is a soft “Oh god, Alexander”, and then the person on his door crosses the distance between them in a couple of strides and kneels in front of him. He’s wearing a ponytail. Alexander thinks it might be John, but he isn’t sure.

And then the person speaks, and Alex would recognize that voice anywhere. He breaks again, the sobs becoming even louder than before.

“Alex. Alex, focus on me, yes?” Laurens says, his honey brown eyes staring deep into Alexander’s, so full of concern but also _love_ and Alex thinks this might be what he’d been looking for, the peace in the middle of the storm. The eye of the hurricane. “Can I touch you? Blink once for no, twice for yes if you think you can’t talk.”

And it takes him a couple seconds, but then Alex is blurting out a soft “yes” and strong arms are wrapping around his body and his face is automatically burying on John’s shoulder. He pulls away after a couple seconds, not wanting to get his shirt all wet and disgusting with his constant crying, but John just mutters a couple soothing words and runs his hand through Alexander’s hair to reassure him he doesn’t mind, so for once in his life he decides to listen. His breathing slows down enough for him to feel exhaustion finally settle in his bones and make his eyelids heavy. 

It isn’t until later that he realizes he might not only be staining his own clothes with blood, but also Laurens’, and pulls away in a hazy panic, breathing quick and words coming out in strings rather than coherent sentences.

“John, John.” He mumbles, refusing to let his friend pull him closer once again. “Th—the blood John. ‘m gonna—gonna stain your shirt.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I don’t mind. We are going to take care of that later, yeah? Just need you to breath for me first, and then we’ll get you cleaned up.” John replies, hand going back to Alexander’s hair as he nods and returns to his previous position. “It’s okay Alexander. It’ll be okay. We’ll make it okay, I promise. I’m not going to let anything hurt you. It’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, mostly, a venting fic written simply to get my own feelings out. Also because "Hurricane" always gets to me (Well, the whole musical gets to me but who can blame me?) and I like to make my favorite characters suffer. What can I say.
> 
> I still do not know if I am going to continue this, so for now it'll be classified as complete. Either way, thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings on tags. Please remember to put yourself first. Help is available if you need it. Unbeta-ed.

It was less than ten minutes later that the door opened once again, the sound making Alexander’s head snap up and immediately pull away from John to retreat to the safety of the dark corner. Laurens look up just enough to see who it was, and then was back by Alexander’s side, trying to convince him to move into the light.

Hercules stood on the doorway, wearing a ratty T-shirt and sporting bags under his surprisingly awake brown eyes. The rain was still pouring outside, and so it came as no surprise to him when a flash of lightning was reflected on his dark skin. To Alexander, on the other hand—

 “Alex? It’s me, Herc. I’m not going to hurt you, it’s okay.”

Alexander could hear his voice. It was a familiar voice, it was a _safe voice_. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to look up, to do anything other than closing his eyes as hard as he could and trying to make himself smaller. For a second, he wondered if he wasn’t underwater, if the storm hadn’t really flooded his room and he was drowning.

_—drowning, drowning, drowning._

“Slow down, you’re going to startle him,” muttered John, his voice softer and hence just slightly further away than whoever had been talking before. Alex couldn’t place it. Honestly, he wasn’t sure it mattered. All he wanted, all the _needed_ , was the blade he’d carefully used to slice his own skin earlier. Where was it, where was it? Ah, there— “Alex, no!” 

It was a loud noise, and then there was a strong, _unknown_ pair of arms wrapped around him and making him shriek and start throwing weak punches, or at least attempt to. He needed to stay safe, needed to get his blade, needed to hurt, needed to, needed to.

“I’ve got him. I’ve got him. Go get the first aid kit.” After a few seconds of nothing but Alexander’s panicked breathing, it added, “Laurens, move.”

_Laurens_. And that’s when the voice finally clicked, and Alexander felt himself go slack on what he now knew to be Mulligan’s arms. The sobs kept going, but the main panic was gone. Hercules was _safe_. Hercules was an island on this vast ocean and he desperately needed to get out of the water.

“Herc—“ He managed to mutter, and Hercules simply ran one hand over Alexander’s messy hair and pulled it into a ponytail, carefully making sure there were no stray hairs before replying.

“Hey kid.” He muttered, and the words got Alex shaking now, tears wetting Hercules’ shirt faster than he had thought possible. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you, kid. I’ve got you. We’ll make this right again okay? Me, John, Laff. Whatever you need, we are here okay?”

Before _them_ , Alexander had spent years wondering if anyone would miss him if he left. He’d started college feeling young and lost, wondering if all the trouble he’d done to get there had been worth it. And then they came along.

If he was still there, he owed it entirely to the three of them.

“Okay, okay I’m back.” Laurens said as he walked into the room, turned on the light and fell to his knees next to them, first aid kit in hand. Alcohol, bandages, a suture kit Alexander was pretty sure John had no idea how to use; all of those things and more came out of the bag and were carefully placed on the floor. Through it all, all he could do was stare at the warm skin of the person pulling them out, and wondering if he hadn’t hurt them enough already.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, tears still rolling down his cheeks even if it was in a considerably calmer fashion.

“It’s okay kid. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Hercules said, his big hand still rubbing his back in the most soothing way he could manage.

“I need to get you cleaned up, okay Alex? Do you think you can show me your wrists?” John said, finally raising those rainforest eyes of him and placing them on Alex’s own. If he hadn’t known him so well, Alex would’ve never noticed the worry he was hiding behind those thick eyelashes, and to notice it nearly made the shaking start all over again. All he could do was divert his eyes and curl up in Hercules’ chest once again, his head getting louder by the second.

_They hate me, they hate me, they hate me._ Of course they hated him. Why shouldn’t they, if all he kept doing was fucking up time and time again, making messes for them to clean up? Why shouldn’t they hate him, when he was the bastard survivor of a land full of promises? Everyone should hate him. Everyone _did_ hate him.

At least he did.

“It’s okay Alex, it’s okay. Just breath.” That was Hercules’ voice, the one pulling him home just before he got too lost. “In, out, in, out.” He mumbled, making his own breathing louder and exaggerated to give him a path to follow. Once he was satisfied, he turned to look a Laurens and made a gesture with his head.

“Do you think I can see your wrists now?” Asked John, showing the alcohol and the cotton pad in his hands. Alex hesitated for a second, glancing at Hercules just enough to notice how intently he was staring at him, and offered his stained arms.

It was quite the battlefield, if he might say so himself; full of crisscrossed marks in a crimson red and a faded white. Not that you could see much of it through the blood dripping down his forearm and into his grey sweatpants, but it was okay. He deserved it anyways, so why would he mind the state his arms were in?

Judging by their sharp intake of breath, neither Laurens nor Mulligan seemed to share that opinion.

It took a couple seconds for Laurens to break through the stupor, but the first thing he did was give Alexander a quick, reassuring smile, which disappeared as suddenly as it showed up. After that he got straight to work, cleaning up the wounds with alcohol and muttering soft apologies every time he pressed the cotton pad to his skin or he noticed Alex wince.

There was a certain poetic irony to the fact that cleaning up his mess caused more pain that making it in the first place.

“Damn it.” Laurens said, startling Alexander who was starting to drift off and notice just how loud the rain had gotten outside of his bedroom window. Mulligan looked at him with a raised eyebrow, the question written all over his face. “These are deeper than I thought they would be. They might need stitches. I—I don’t know. Lafayette is usually the one who…”

“No.” Alex muttered, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who had been crying his eyes out just a couple minutes ago. “No Lafayette.”

A slightly uncomfortable silence followed his statement. They couldn’t understand, could they? That it was date night and Lafayette was out and the last thing he wanted was to ruin the night of one more of his friends. He’d already done enough damage as it was. Besides, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand the look of disappointment that was bound to cross his French friend’s eyes the second he saw the mess that he had made.

Maybe he should’ve died in that hurricane, with the rest of them. Maybe he was never meant to get out unscathed.

“Okay. Okay, no Lafayette.” Laurens finally agreed, and a relieved sigh escaped Alexander’s mouth. “I’ll do my best to put on some bandages, but the second you start bleeding through them or one of us notices something wrong we are getting Laf.”

It wasn’t his favorite idea, but he thought he could agree. It made sense, after all. Lafayette had taken a couple first aid courses, mainly because he got in so many bar fights he found himself or someone in his vicinity needing stitches about once a week. If he needed stitches—and he doubted it would go that far—Lafayette would certainly be their best bet.

Alexander nodded, and Laurens stared at him for a couple of seconds before deciding to take his word for it. His eyes returned to the bandages in the floor, and he started carefully wrapping them around Alexander’s arms. Alexander placed his head on Mulligan’s shoulder, and did his best to ignore the sound of thunder outside.

For some reason, the world didn’t seem like such a bad, scary place when his friends were next to him.

He was already half asleep when Laurens finished up with the bandages and started putting the rest of the first aid kit away, the sound of the bag being zipped closed making him open his eyes. It took a couple of blinks for everything to come into focus, but the first thing he saw was Johns kind, beautiful smile as he stared at him.

“You should get some rest.” He suggested, and the mere idea of sleeping was enough to draw a yawn out of Alex. Mulligans deep chuckle traveled from his chest to Alex’s own, making the younger man move his eyes up, slightly confused. 

“You look like a kitten.” Hercules explained, giving him a soft smile. “But Laurens is right, you need to get some rest. _Proper_ rest, not catnaps whenever your body decides to suddenly collapse due to your constant neglect.”

Alexander had the decency to try and look ashamed, making Hercules shake his head with a fond smile still painted in his face. More proof that he only kept making his friends worry for him and couldn’t do much else, his brain supplied. He dismissed the thought with just a slight hesitation, and decided he could trust his friends for tonight. They wouldn’t be there if they didn’t care for him, would they?

            _Would they?_

“See, Herc is on my side.” Laurens said, making Alex snap out of it and give him a shy smile. He could still see the worry in his friend’s eyes, most likely because he had never been one to stay quiet for long and he’d barely said a word since he’d managed to stop crying, but it was a softer worry now. One that would slowly fade away once he was tucked in bed and the storm was over.

“Oh no, don’t try to use _me_ to make him listen to you. Besides, that was never going to work. He has never listened to me in the first place. I thought you were more observant than that, Laurens.”

“Shut up, Mulligan.” John said, the rolling of his eyes accompanied by a soft smile. “Just help me get the kid to bed.”

Hercules shrug should’ve been enough warning, but Alexander was so exhausted he didn’t notice that, nor the fact that he’d been picked up from the floor and carried bridal style the short distance between the corner of his room and his bed, until his back hit the soft white mattress.

He considered asking if he’d really been carried to his bed when he could’ve crossed the two meters on his own, but decided against it when he saw John’s smile suddenly turn into a frown. Had he done something wrong?

“We can’t let him sleep on that.” He muttered, turning to look at Hercules and then glancing at the corner. The floor was covered in red smears, just like he thought. A sigh left his lips and he looked back at Alex, who was stiff in the bed looking like he might burst into tears again anytime now. “Hey, can you take off your sweatpants? Just want to get you into something more comfortable.”

Hesitation crossed his eyes for a second, but then he nodded, making Laurens give him one of those soft smiles he tended to save for crying kids and stressed Alexanders with a large amount of caffeine in their system.

“These okay?” Mulligan asked, pulling a pair of dark blue sweatpants from his drawers. Alex nodded, and caught the sweatpants as they were thrown in his way. He was just shimming out of the blood covered pair when he realized something was missing. No, not something. Someone.

Laurens was gone.

His breath started to quicken and his eyes filled with tears, making the entire room dark and blurry and _so empty_. Where was John? Had he decided he couldn’t handle how fucked up he was anymore? Had he finally gotten tired of him? What if Mulligan decided to leave too? What if, _what if, what if—_

“Breath Alex, breath.” That was Hercules, hand on his shoulder and face right in front of his own. “Come on, you can do this. It’s okay, yeah? It’s okay. We are right here.”

“B—but John…”

“He just went to get something to clean up. He’ll be right here, yeah? Don’t you worry.” Alex nodded, and whipped his eyes with his forearm. “Want me to put those sweatpants on you?” Hesitation. “Don’t worry, nothing I haven’t done before.” A slow, carefully thought out nod. “Okay. It’s okay Alex. I’m here.”

By the time Laurens came back, wearing a new, clean shirt and with hands full of paper towels and three bottles with nice smelling liquids (that might as well have been simply perfume because Lafayette was the one in charge of cleaning supplies and none of those labels were in a language he could understand) Alexander was tucked in and the Mulligan was running a comforting hand through his long wavy hair.

“Hey, I’ll take care of that.” Mulligan said, stepping away from Alexander and making him open his eyes, afraid. He then added, his voice just a bit softer, “He panicked a bit when you left. It might be better if you go take care of him.”

John nodded, handing him all the cleaning supplies and moving towards the spot Hercules had left on the bed.

Alexander’s body relaxed once he was certain the person moving towards him was, indeed, John Laurens, and he sleepily reached towards the other’s hand, gently squeezing it once he could hold it. He was slightly surprised by the force with which John squeezed back, but didn’t give it much thought. As long as he was still there, it didn’t matter.

“Alex, you should go to sleep.” Laurens said after a while, Mulling sitting next to him when Alexander opened his eyes. “Hercules and I will be right down the hall if you need us, and—“

“No.” Alex muttered, his heart beating faster and his eyes quickly filling with tears. “Don’t go, please. I don’t want to be alone.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll stay here.”

He stayed up for long enough to see Hercules get up and turn off the light, and to feel two bodies press against him from opposite sides. Most importantly, he fell asleep with one pair of dark skinned arms wrapped around him, and John’s soft fingers intertwined with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, I decided to try and continue this story because—well, because I could, mostly. Shoutout to my boyfriend for convincing me to keep going. 
> 
> Honestly, I have only a really general idea of where this is going. I get the feeling this is going to be quite the ride! Hope you decide to keep suffering with me, I've got a lot in store. Lets see where this takes us.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings on tags. If any of these topics trigger you, please don't read. Please take care of yourself. Help is available if you need it. Unbeta-ed.

Lafayette was most commonly known around campus as the stereotypical playboy: handsome, different date every night, men and women throwing themselves at his feet in an attempt to be the next lucky person to get into his pants. There wasn’t an outfit in this world that man couldn’t pull off; the sorbet lemon skinny jeans in his closet where proof. He could sing, he could dance, and he was arguably the brightest lawyer in his year. What was not to love?

Most importantly, he was French, and despite having a stronger grip of English than half the people in campus, he’d be a fool not to realize what a not-so-slight accent could do. A simple “ma chérie” had women’s knees go weak, and it was incredible how much further a cliché “uh, is that how you say it?” and a coy look down would get him. To call it flirting would be an insult; by now, it was an art form and he was the greatest performer. 

It was a shame none of the three men he had his eyes set on ever fell for it. 

Despite this, Lafayette truthfully enjoyed his wonderful date nights. It was never anything serious—something he made a point of stating to any other interested parties—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a good time. And if that good time became, well, a good time, then that was no one’s business but his own. 

This particular date night, having been spent in the company of an absolutely charming young lady, had been no different. Sure, Alexander had been a little too absorbed by his mid-term paper when he’d left, and had barely replied to him all afternoon, but that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. So what if he’d decided not to accept her offer not to stay the night because he was worried about him? He’d had a great time anyways. The bad feeling he’d had since he left the apartment had nothing to do with anything. 

Besides, chances were the second he stepped through the doors he’d be greeted by the white light of a computer screen reflecting on Alexander’s freckled skin—unless Laurens had managed to get him away and forced some food down his throat, of course. He’d had to do so himself several times before. 

What he hadn’t expected, however, was to step into a flat that was almost too quiet. There was no sound of Hercules loud snoring, or John watching the TV, or Alexander typing away at his computer or muttering nonsense at a thousand open books. There was nothing but the sound of rain pattering against the window. 

The black, wet coat was slid off his shoulders and was mindlessly thrown at the coat hanger as the Frenchman wondered just what his three friends could be up to. It was a Friday night—or, as a quick look at his wristwatch informed him, two in the morning of a lovely Saturday—but no one other than John, who had somehow cursed himself with a 10am class known for hard tests, had any early appointments. 

At this time of the night, at least Alexander had to be awake. Maybe he and Mulligan had gone out? It wasn’t like they weren’t allowed to do anything without him. Besides, he was the one who was constantly trying to get them all out of the flat and into a club. They were in college, for God’s sake. They needed to learn to have fun. 

Lafayette slipped out of his leather shoes, immediately taking off his socks and dropping them both next to the door. They were soaking wet (unsurprising, considering the amount of rain that had been pouring down all night) and his feet were cold against the wooden floor, but he could deal with wet shoes and cold feet later. 

There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach he couldn’t seem to get rid of. Something was wrong, and he was going to find out what. 

He opened the door to Hercules’ room, the one just across the hall from his own. He’d made a quick stop to change out of his wet clothing and into something that could at least warm him up, and his friend’s door was already cracked open, allowing him to get in with considerable less noise. Besides, he thought it prudent to check on Hercules first; Laurens had an important test the next day and there would be hell to pay if he even dared to disturb his peaceful slumber. 

The bed was unmade, a heap of clothes on top of his desk chair. A couple papers were thrown on top of a stack of books that threatened to fall, the desk surprisingly void of any other materials. All in all, it was the organized mess he had come to expect from Herc, with no signs that anything was wrong except for one thing: the phone placed on top of his bedside table, the one possession he was certain his friend would never leave without. 

So maybe he was starting to panic now. 

Lafayette took a deep breath, took a careful step out of the room and set his eyes on the two doors down the hallway, belonging to Alexander and John respectively. He was about to take one step towards Alexander’s room when the door cracked open, two shadows walking out and talking in hushed whispers.

“We need to call him Herc. I warned him. I can’t do anything else. This is Laf’s forte, not my own,” said a panicked voice that he identified as Laurens’. Lafayette pressed himself to the doorway as soon as he heard his name, frowning. 

“He’s just going to panic again John.” Hercules tried to argue. “We can’t—“

“Yes we can!” Lauren’s previously hushed voice was now loud enough to echo in the dark apartment, forcing him to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. When he spoke again, his voice was back to a whisper. “We need to. I can’t risk losing him. Please.”

The broken sob that followed was enough to pull Lafayette out of his hiding spot.  
“John? What’s wrong?” His voice was gentle as he approached his friends, barefoot feet barely making any noise against the floor. 

Both of them turned in his direction before sharing a look. How where they supposed to tell him about the state Alexander was in? They both knew how overprotective he was when it came to Alexander—they all were, really. He had wormed his way inside their lives, and they were doing their best to keep him there. 

They seemed to be doing a terrible job, too. 

 

Alexander woke up to an empty bed and rain splattering against the window, his breathing getting faster and faster before he even realized it was happening. There was a faint stinging sensation on his wrist he couldn’t quite get rid of, but he didn’t give it a second thought, curled up under the covers as he was. 

Had he been slightly more alert, he might’ve noticed the whispering coming from the other side of the door, or the sound of the bathroom door opening and someone rummaging through the cabinets. In his state, however, all he could do was repeat to himself that he was fine, he was safe, like a mantra meant to keep all evils away. 

The hurricane should’ve taken him too. At least then he would’ve never ended up being the fucked up mess he is. 

“Alexander?” The voice was right next to his bed, and Alexander pulled the covers tightly around him. “Alex, please. It’s me, Lafayette.”

Slowly, the covers were removed from his head until he was left out in the open, eyes shut closed. It wouldn’t do anything to drive him away, Alex knew that much from past experience, but he didn’t feel ready to face anyone. Not yet. Not after—

—oh god, what had he done.

Brown eyes shot wide open, only to be met with absolute darkness and moving shadows, made more sinister by the thunderstorm raging outside. A whimper escaped his lips, and he his arm was already trying to pull the covers over him when someone turned the lamp on his bedside table on.

Lafayette, Hercules, and Laurens were all standing next to his bed, each one looking more worried than the other. 

“Hey pal. I’ve heard you had a rough night.” Said Lafayette. Alexander’s only response was to shoot his other two friends accusatory glares, who at the very least they had the decency to look ashamed. All he’d asked for was to keep Laf out of this mess, but it was apparently the very first thing they’d done. 

Assholes, both of them. They were going to have words after this. 

“I’m fi-fine.” Alex finally managed to stutter, words tangling up with each other and doing nothing for his mental sanity. Words were the one thing he commanded, but he had been reduced to a stuttering mess who couldn’t even say one sentence properly. Fuck this. 

It wasn’t until then that he noticed the first aid kit in Lafayette’s hands, breathing quickening almost immediately. 

“Hey. Hey, Alexander.” Laurens crossed the two steps separating them and grabbed one of Alexander’s hands, forcing him to stop looking at the kit and focus on his friend’s warm eyes instead. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“He was—he was not…” His eyes were already moist with tears, and it took all his self-control not to turn into a sobbing mess again. Honestly, one would think he would’ve run out of tears by now.

Laurens sighed, reaching for his free hand before lifting both for Alexander to see slowly spreading red stain on his bandages. If nothing else, it effectively shut him up. 

“I know you didn’t want us to tell him Alex, and I get it, but this is much more important than that. I am not going to lose you like this, so just—just stay quiet and let him treat you. Please.” Alex glanced at Lafayette, mouth opening to complain, but the glare he was met with was enough to make him quietly return his eyes to Laurens. “Please.”

If the sight of his friend so damn close to tears hadn’t been enough to make Alex agree, the sound of his voice breaking certainly was. He lowered his arms, resigned himself to the fact that his friends would continue to try and keep him alive—he didn’t quite know how to feel about that, but he’d think about it later, when he wasn’t so tired—and turned to look at Laurens.

“You’ll stay, right?” He muttered, giving him a pleading look. John smiled and ran a hand through his messy hair. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay. Me and Herc, both of us, promise.” Alex nodded, closing his eyes. 

“Give him a painkiller.” All the warmth had been pulled out of Lafayette’s voice, which now seemed to be flat and devoid of emotion. For a second, Alexander wondered if that was his way of hiding just how worried he was, but the idea was quickly discarded. No one cared that much for him, he knew that much.

“Alex. Alex, I need you to sit up and take this.” Hercules said, crossing the room so he could settle on the other side of the bed. It took him a couple seconds to comply, but he finally opened his eyes and sat up, glaring at the glass of water and the painkillers his friend was offering.

“Wh’ can’t sleep?” The words were slurred with sleep and the underlying anxiety that he couldn’t seem to get rid of, eyes pointed in the direction of Lafayette, who was unwrapping one of his wrists and seemed particularly determined to not look at him. 

“You can sleep afterwards, promise. Just need you to take the painkillers in case I actually need to—” Lafayette’s voice faltered, hands hesitating for a second before they continued with their work. He took a deep breath before he continued to speak. “—in case I actually need to stitch the cuts.”

Alexander opened his mouth one last time, before deciding against it and using his one free hand to pop the painkillers into his mouth and take a long drink of water. Laurens ran his fingers through his messy hair, forcing his eyes to close. 

“This might hurt, but I really need to clean the cuts.” Alex nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Okay. Take a deep breath.” 

Lungs filled with oxygen as Alexander hurried to comply. The sooner they did this, the sooner it would all be over. 

 

It took twenty-five sleepless minutes and a thousand curses coming out of Lafayette’s mouth, but by the time it ended Alexander had been lucky enough to have only a couple stitches in one arm and a fresh set of bandages covering both of his wrists. 

There was also a certain taste of metal in his mouth, the result of biting his tongue too hard to drown more than one scream, but all things considered, he could easily ignore that part. 

“I’ll go put everything away.” Lafayette muttered once he had made sure the bandages were well placed, and Hercules quickly stood up to help. The two of them picked up all the necessary supplies and exited the room without another word.

Alexander looked at his wrists, then at the door, and back to his wrists, confusion written all over his face. A sympathetic smile appeared in Laurens face, and he allowed himself to settle in the bed next to his friend and wrap an arm around him. 

“They’re just worried. We all are.” He said. “And damn tired.”

Quiet filled the room, broken only by the sounds of cabinets opening and closing right down the hallway. There were barely any sounds coming from the street other than the rain that kept pouring outside, but Alexander barely registered. Until then, he hadn’t realized how tired he was. It was easily four or five in the morning, and the sun wouldn’t take long to come out. He’d cost his friends a good night’s sleep at best—John had a test to take in a couple of hours, for God’s sake. How could he have been so stupid?

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, closing his eyes so Laurens wouldn’t notice how quickly they had filled with tears. Pathetic.

“Hey. It’s fine. We do it because we are your friends, okay?” He could almost sense the comforting smile that was spreading on Lauren’s face. Hesitantly, Alexander opened his eyes to look at him and let the first tear fall.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll all be.” John said, before pulling him closer to his chest. Alexander buried his face in the soft fabric of his T-Shirt, moving only when he was coaxed to lie down.

Both of them were fast asleep by the time Lafayette returned to the room, Hercules having decided to step away and return to his own bed. He sighed, leaning on the doorframe for a second before making up his mind. 

The door closed behind him, the soft click of the nightstand lamp turning off going unnoticed by the two other men in the room. A third person slipped in, curly hair grabbed in the ponytail style both of his friends had disregarded, and wrapped his arms tightly around actual owner of the bed. 

And if he placed himself as close to Alex as possible just so he could remind himself that he was still breathing then, well, only he had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: I am very, very sorry this took so long! It wasn't supposed to, but school and college applications—well, you know how it is. (On a side note: please pray for me because college essays are driving me insane and I need a scholarship desperately.) 
> 
> Anyways! This is the longer chapter so far, I think? Maybe not, but I'm still pretty damn proud of it. Lafayette found out! How are you all feeling about that? Next chapter will be dealing with the aftermath and the consequences, something I really, really thought we would get to sooner. I'm rambling by now, but STILL. Tell me how you feel about this, if you're still reading even though I took forever (sorry again) and as usual, point out any grammar errors you found. I'm not a native English speaker and really appreciate the corrections. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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